


Pure Speculation

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-25
Updated: 2010-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:59:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one gets away with everything. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/264238">The Upper Hand</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pure Speculation

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to wpadmirer and daemonluna.

Peter kept Neal close, even after the bruises faded to the point where they could have resulted from the after-effects of minor dental surgery. Neal looked at him hard the first couple times; he knew exactly what Peter was doing. He never declined the invitations, however.

 

Peter wondered if Neal knew just how much closer he leaned into Peter's space when they neared the end of the day and Peter hadn't invited him yet. They were down to Peter opening his hand to Neal and raising an eyebrow. Neal would nod. After work they would go home together.

It happened on a Thursday night. El hadn't been home when Peter arrived, which gave him kitchen duties for the night. A pretty good tomato sauce bubbled away by the time Elizabeth came through the door. Neal was off getting a bottle of wine or two, despite his limited income. The bottles Neal returned with were always modestly priced from little known vineyards, but they always matched whatever was on the table. The boy had talents.

Peter held off dropping the pasta until Neal knocked to be let back in. The bottles breathed while the pasta cooked. Elizabeth made garlic bread.

Domestic bliss, in their own little way. Peter should have known it wouldn't have lasted.

*

After supper and the dishes, they retired to the living room. Elizabeth had rented yet another heist DVD. Peter thought she did so just to hear Neil protest in disgust about the liberties movies took. Peter kept his ear out for anything Neal said that could have been incriminating but Neal even at his most outraged kept everything in the hypothetical. Peter was glad for it. He didn't know what he'd do if Neal slipped again.

They usually corked most of the second bottle, keeping it to cook with the next day, but this time it sat on the coffee table. Peter worked on his laptop on the couch, sitting lengthwise. Neal sat sprawled with his back just at Peter's knee. Elizabeth sat down on the floor with Neal. The wine continued to flow between them. Peter watched as Neal's outrage soften to a contented glow. They all had it. Part carb-overload, part familiarity. And also part...expectation, if Peter had to give it a name. The lighting seemed softer, the room a little cozier. This was his and Elizabeth's special time together, a time where they both could relax or catch up on whatever needed to be caught up on. The simple fact that they were together even working on different projects was enough.

Neal in the room should have changed that. The comfort level didn't change with him there. It didn't seem right. Neal crossed the line as to the amount of work Peter wanted to bring home. The hard, cynical part of Peter's mind knew this was why Neal had been so successful before going to prison. He studied Neal languishing on the floor, relaxed for once. He couldn't see the con from any angle. Neal liked it here. He and Elizabeth liked Neal here with them.

That feeling of expectation between all of them was as thin and invisible as fishing line. Peter decided it had to be fate when Elizabeth reached for the bottle of wine on the table. The mostly empty bottle was closer to Neal than to her. Peter saw that it was going to be an awkward attempt. He put his computer down, but he was too slow.

She slipped and almost fell into Neal's lap. Neal caught her, quick as a cat even with the amount of wine in his system. He held her modestly at the shoulder as she pulled her center of gravity back under her. Once El caught herself, she froze an an inch or two from Neal. Peter felt his mouth dry. He must have left it open. He tried to say something like, "Get away from my wife" but his lips, tongue and lungs refused to help him.

If he wanted, he could stop what was going to happen. If he even just cleared his throat, Neal would let go of El, stand, and go back to his place without the car Peter arranged for him on a nightly basis. They'd never speak of it again. Neal would have more pressing things to do in the evening than come to the house of his FBI handler just to eat good home cooking and bad Chinese food.

All of that would happen, if Peter made so much of a sound of protest. Neal glanced up to him. Peter, not knowing what the hell he was thinking or even if he was thinking at all, nodded.

Neal's eyes widened, asking again without words if Peter was sure or if the first nod was just a spasm. Peter swallowed and nodded again. What ever happened, there couldn't be any misunderstandings. Peter found himself wondering how hard it would be to find another charming if deviously-minded asset to help the white collar division should this all go to pot. That bridge seemed so far away he left the thought unformed.

Neal pulled away from El. She'd been watching the whole exchange between Peter and Neal, her eyes bright, and she smiled at Peter. Without a word spoken, she seemed confident that if this changed anything, it would only be for the better. I love you she mouthed, and Peter swallowed again. His throat stuck in the closed position. What the hell were they doing?

At first, it wasn't much. Elizabeth undid Neal's tie, a brilliant blue that didn't seem natural and yet went with the black suit Neal wore. She passed it to Peter, who took it and wrapped it around his hands, not sure why. The rough silk bit at his hands, but he kept the tension on it. His cock had thickened some time between Neal glancing at him for permission and Elizabeth smiling at him. He masochistically ignored it, despite the sudden need.

Neal had shrugged out of his jacket and it pooled between him and the sofa. He kept his hands at his side. That was good, Peter decided. He didn't know if he could handle Neal touching Elizabeth quite yet. When she unbuttoned the first button on Neal's shirt, he brushed his cheek against her wrist, like a cat would. Elizabeth stopped for a moment. She ran the tips of her fingers over the yellow bruises on Neal's jaw line. Neal's lip quirked. It's nothing.

She dragged her finger across his lips, their first real intimate touch. Peter almost sat up and ended it then and there. Neal reached up without looking and found Peter's leg. He ran his hand up it. God help him, Neal's touch calmed his protests. Peter felt involved in the process, as they say, and any more protest died under Neal's touch.

Elizabeth paused again, studying Peter. Peter nodded and she started again on Neal's shirt. Neal's fingers played allegro over Peter's calf.

No one breathed. Elizabeth unbuttoned the rest of the shirt. Neal's breath was the most sucked in, at least. The bruises on his belly were the same sick yellow as the ones of his face. Elizabeth paused over them. Neal was hard, his cock obviously straining his tailored trousers, but Elizabeth ignored it. She put her hands over Neal's chest. Peter felt Neal's thudding heartbeat from the pulse of Neal's thumb. Peter realized he was sweating even though he'd already taken his jacket off for the evening.

"Elizabeth," Neal said, breaking the silence first. It should have broken the spell, too, Peter knew. They should all be shrugging their clothes back on, but then he realized that only Neal was half-undressed.

Instead, Elizabeth nodded. She sat back on her heels just long enough to unbutton the white blouse. The pearl buttons had always given Peter problems. She pulled it off, and then undid the lacy white bra as well. Peter heard the hiss of appreciation escaping Neal's lips. It echoed his own. "May I?" Neal asked.

Elizabeth nodded. Peter did as well. Neal couldn't see him, but Elizabeth could. Neal remained still. He looked at Elizabeth and the half of his face that Peter could see had a beautiful smile on it. "Peter?" he asked.

Peter opened his mouth and made a clicking sound.

Neal didn't move. "Peter?" he asked again, this time cajoling.

Peter's fists tightened around Neal's tie. Neal's hand on his ankle tightened. "Go ahead," Peter said. The words didn't have an ounce of hesitation in them, surprising them all.

Neal shifted so that his back dug up against Peter's knee and let go of Peter's ankle. Peter missed the touch. Neal shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll come back to that."

Elizabeth moved closer to him. Peter expected Neal to touch her breasts first, and then reminded himself who was with his wife. Neal entwined his fingers into Elizabeth's hair, pulling her even closer, but they didn't kiss. Peter couldn't help himself. He ran his hands over Neal's shoulder to touch the bare skin. Neal shivered. Neal moved his hands to Elizabeth's temples, her cheek, the tip of her nose. Elizabeth smiled again. Neal touched the top of her lip, traced the line beneath of her lower, and cupped her chin. She made a sound as he rubbed his knuckles down the length of her neck, and took his time at the base of her throat.

Peter's fingers froze on Neal's shoulders. "Peter?" Neal asked, for the third time. "You still with us?"

Peter didn't want to answer. He didn't know how to, not without showing just how much he wanted...this. Whatever this was. Neal's fingers fluttered along Elizabeth's clavicle while he rubbed his back against as much of Peter as he could. "Please, Peter."

Neal kept using his name, pulling him back from his thoughts to what was happening. "I'm fine," Peter said. That didn't sound right. He tried again. "We're all fine." That was better.

Neal hadn't asked El, but he supposed they had eye contact. She sighed as Neal ran a single finger from her clavicle to her breast. "I'm going to kiss my way down here," he promised. He cupped her breasts, delicately, brushing his thumbs over her nipples. Within seconds he'd obviously dialed in to how gently she liked them played with. Peter could tell how much Neal would have liked to lean forward to kiss them. That would break the contact with Peter in order to do so, so Neal didn't.

Elizabeth pulled away, instead. "My turn." Her eyes glinted with more than arousal. Or maybe with an arousal Peter hadn't known she had before. "Would you put your hands behind your head for Peter, Neal?" she asked.

The politeness of the question struck Peter with a purely sexual jolt. Neal wouldn't agree to it, Peter knew. Neal couldn't give up control like that. He heard Neal snort. Maybe Peter didn't know Neal as well as he thought he did. "I'd need to take my shirt all the way off, first," Neal said. Not a refusal.

Elizabeth looked up to Peter and smiled a new sort of smile. "I think we could let you do that, couldn't we?"

Peter swallowed. His throat clicked again. When this was over he was going to drink a gallon of water straight from the tap. "Sure."

Neal sat up, breaking the connection. Peter's knee felt cold. Neal pulled his jacket out from behind him and took his own sweet time folding it up. He had to reach under his cuffs to pull his shirt all the way off. Peter, not quite sure what the hell he was doing, swung his legs down so that his feet touched the floor. When Neal settled back into his previous position, he leaned back into Peter's now spread thighs. Neal didn't say a word about the new arrangement. "Would you like me to undo my belt?" Neal asked, instead. He could be asking if he could take the trash out.

"Don't worry about that," Elizabeth said. "Just lean back a little."

Neal did so, settling even further into Peter. If Neal shifted back another inch or so, he would be up against Peter's hard-on. But knowingly or not, he kept just shy of the erection. Peter was so hard his body throbbed in time with his slamming heartbeat. Neal twisted, putting his hands behind his head. Peter couldn't swallow, but his mouth was so dry he didn't have to. He had to let go of the silk in order to take up Neal's wrists. He kept his touch delicate on Neal's right wrist, knowing it was still sore even if Neal had stopped favouring it. Neal relaxed. "Thank you, Peter."

Elizabeth undid Neal's belt with great ceremony. "Yes, Peter. Thank you."

Peter had to close his eyes for a second or he'd have come right there.

He heard the whisper of leather sliding against some of the finest wool available on the east coast. He counted to five, as long as he could stand, and opened eyes again. After all that, Elizabeth had discarded the belt behind her carelessly. It lay as the tie did on the couch, abandoned. Peter couldn't help wonder which would look better on Neal's wrists, the leather or the silk. Neal shifted against him as though he'd transmitted the thought through the layer of clothing Peter still wore. We could find out.

Peter planned on it.

There was no awkwardness pulling Neal's trousers all the way off. Peter didn't expect any. Neal's pubes were neatly trimmed. Peter should have been expecting that, too. His cock was over a hand-span long and was darker than Peter thought -- not that he'd given any thought to Neal's penis up to about twenty minutes or so ago. It lay tight against his belly. "Elizabeth, please," Neal moaned, lifting his hips off the rug. He strained against Peter. Peter, mindful of Neal's wrist, let him pull as hard as Neal wanted to without hurting.

None of them were going to last very long, Peter knew, analytical even with a naked, writhing man between his thighs. The DVD behind Elizabeth was scrolling through the credits. He wondered if Neal could come before the FBI warning flashed at the end. That would have been ironic. Elizabeth bowed her head down, taking another man's cock into her mouth, and if Peter had speech -- which he didn't -- he would have asked her to hurry if only to put poor Neal out of his misery.

"Yes," Neal whispered, his entire body tight. He pulled himself up even further. The movement pushed his shoulders hard against Peter's groin. Peter, despite himself, pulled Neal's body up even tighter. His cock, so ignored through all of this, roared with the need to grind itself against Neal's back until Peter came in his pants like a teenager. But he wasn't a teenager, and he forced his body to wait so that he could fuck his wife through the floor when she was done. He wondered what her mouth would taste like, and had to push Neal away to keep control.

Not that Neal looked like he cared. He'd stopped trying to drive himself further down Elizabeth's throat. His body responded as though Elizabeth had thrust a cattle prod against his thigh instead of his cock down her mouth. Elizabeth cupped his testicles towards the end, slipping her hand under Neal's hips as though pushing him further into her mouth, and then let him sag down to the rug when he'd finished.

Peter let go of Neal so Neal could slide free. They let him recover. Neal's active participation wasn't needed for this next part. Peter couldn't undress fast enough. Elizabeth just got her dress slacks off. He collapsed over her, guiding himself in. She was so wet, sliding inside was effortless. The FBI warning came on, turning the room red for a second, and Elizabeth wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him harder inside her. He heard Neal moving behind them, pulling himself up to watch if nothing else. Elizabeth threw her head back as Peter thrust. Peter felt Neal move to them. Peter thought he couldn't last much longer, but then felt Neal's cold fingers cup his ass at the same time sliding between Peter's and Elizabeth's bodies. Neal pushed down on Elizabeth's mond as Peter fucked her, and Elizabeth gasped. Peter couldn't take any more, even as he felt Elizabeth orgasm under him.

He'd waited so long the orgasm started painfully. Then the rush overtook the denied pleasure. He let his body come, his body as tight as Neal's had been, and it took forever for the sensation of his throbbing cock to separate from the roar of his body.

He pulled away, knowing at the very least he should feel was chagrined, but Neal had already separated from them. He'd pulled his slacks back on, and poured the last of the wine into his glass. He drained half of it, then offered it to Peter.

Peter moved to the couch, to lean against it as Neal had. Elizabeth had already gathered her clothes and was in the bathroom. Neal still held the glass out and Peter took it. "I should go," Neal said, when Peter finished the last of the grenache.

"Stay," Peter said. He closed his eyes. The song of the wine inside him matched the residual thrum of the orgasm. "Car service is at a premium this late at night."

"Do you even know what time it is?" Neal asked, his voice cautious for what they'd just done.

"No," Peter said. He made a vague gesture towards his clothes, and Neal understood. He gathered up Peter's things and handed them over. "And I don't care, either."

*

Elizabeth came out of the shower in her robe with her hair up in a towel. She walked over to where Neal and Peter were rinsing out the wine glasses in the kitchen. She pulled Peter to her and kissed him. She smelled of soap and shampoo, but he could still smell himself...and Neal, on her skin. Neal hung back, even shuffling to the side, but El let go of Peter and moved to Neal. "Hello, Neal," she said.

"El," Neal said. There was a smile on his face, but even Peter could see nervousness. She pulled him to him. A coil of jealousy looped around Peter, but it was only a force of habit. And he didn't know who he was jealous of. She put her hands around Neal's face, holding him still, and then kissed him full on the lips. Neal put his hands around her hips and kissed her back, spinning her around.

"Oh, come on," Peter said, despite himself. "All of that wasn't necessary."

Neal smoothly parked El at the counter and took Peter's face as El had taken him. "Don't be jealous," Neal said, and kissed him as well. Peter startled. Neal didn't let him go until he settled into the kiss. It wasn't like kissing Elizabeth at all. Elizabeth melted into the kiss. Neal had sharp edges. It wasn't wrong, just different. And very interesting. Neal broke away first, and grinned. "You don't know how long I've wanted to do that," he said.

Peter couldn't help but smile back. "Oh, I had a rough idea."

"You can't say it didn't work," Neal said. He took Elizabeth's hand, pulling her to him. It was still early when they all went up to bed.

*

Peter was quiet on the ride into the office. Neal kept stealing glances at him, trying to suss out his mental state before he got around other people. Peter was quiet, but obviously not in the middle of a homosexual panic. Or bisexual panic, as the case may be. Or any sort of panic at all. "You can stop trying to be subtle," Peter said.

Neal shrugged. "You're taking it surprising well."

"I was the only one who went into the whole thing sober, Neal."

"Oh. Right." Neal hesitated, then touched Peter's knee. He wanted to see Peter's reaction. Peter didn't push his hand off. He just glanced down to it, then back to the road.

"No one can know," Peter said.

There it was, the limitation. Neal needed to know what it was and he felt comforted having it out in the open. He leaned back in his seat. "I see."

Peter's knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. "It's not like that, Neal. There's no precedent. If anyone thinks that I'm compromised in my dealings with you, you could go back to prison. Do you want to risk that?"

"I wasn't planning on blowing you in the boardroom," Neal said, comfort turning into something that stung. They still thought the other a fool on occasion. The idea of going back to jail sobered up the thought of sucking Peter off just about anywhere. Still, he liked the way Peter gripped the wheel again and would give up some of his net worth to know what he was thinking about just then. "Do you?" Neal asked, instead.

"Do I what?"

Neal slid his hand a little higher up Peter's leg. The trousers were mid-grade quality, at least. They wouldn't wrinkle if Peter got down on his knees. The thought resonated deep inside him, and he wondered how long it would take Peter to suck him off. Neal bet himself less than a week. "Do you feel compromised in your dealings with me?"

Peter shot him a look, a look that told him of course Peter felt compromised. And that if Neal ever betrayed that trust, Peter would lock him up himself, despite who was on whose knees. Tell him the little voice in Neal's head screamed. Tell him right now that you set June's friends after Mr. Football and Damien. Don't insult his intelligence. He's going to figure it out himself, you just know it.

Neal bit his lip. This wasn't a parking ticket or misplaced gold bullion. He'd had men killed. Deliberately. It weighed heavy on him. It was to save Peter, and Elizabeth and June, but it was still conspiracy to commit murder. He couldn't drag June into it even if it wasn't was serious, serious time. Peter wouldn't be able to just look away from the crime, and he'd wouldn't be able to look at Neal after the confession. Tell him! the voice in his head howled.

Neal turned up the radio.

*

They were still working on a new case, one that involved wire fraud laundering case. Neal's special talents weren't needed, but he enjoyed watching Peter work. Maybe he should get himself a team, rather than just rely on Mozzie all the time.

He had to keep telling himself that he was on the straight and narrow. Peter tried to give him things to do, but Neal knew busy work when he saw it.

A week past. The subpoenas necessary to get the off-shore information was taking a lot of hurry up and wait work, which Neal hated the most. When he complained, Peter said it wasn't all glamorous supermodels and high-stake undercover work. It surprised him to see that Peter didn't care. Rooting out the bad guy was all the thrill he needed. Neal looked around the work room and wondered what it had been like when Peter had been after him.

He bet there were glamorous supermodels involved.

Peter called it a day just after six, early for him. He raised his eyebrow, lifting his hand, but Neal shook his head. Peter stared at him, surprised, but Neal wanted to give both Peter and Elizabeth a cooling off period. "Are you sure?" Peter asked, out loud, in front of most of his team.

"Yes," Neal said.

Peter shrugged. "I'll have a car ready for you," Peter said.

Neal shrugged. "I've walked before, I'll walk again."

"With Damien still out there?"

Neal stopped. "Right. Of course."

Peter looked at him, long and hard, but Neal kept his face neutral. Peter shrugged and left him.

*

The next night Neal accepted the invitation, though it took most of the day and part of the evening for Peter to offer it. Neal wished he'd had a recording device on the wall during the conversation that must have taken place the night before. When he left with Peter, he saw tension knot in Peter's neck until they made it to his car. He wondered why Peter thought that Neal going home with Peter would look any different than the dozens of other times Neal had gone home with Peter, but it was obvious Peter thought the difference would be measurable.

There'd also been no touching, Neal noticed. Not an arm around Neal's shoulder, which Peter had never been concerned about, not a tap on his hand to get his attention back on the mind-numbing task Neal had been put on. When they'd gone for lunch, Neal had even stepped into the street before the pedestrian light came on. Peter hadn't even grabbed his arm to keep him out of traffic. Neal felt on edge with the lack of touch.

He covered for it by drumming his hands on his thigh in the car on the ride home. Peter kept glancing at him, annoyed, but didn't tell him to stop. He moved his fingers up, closer to his groin, and saw the white knuckles reappear in Peter's hands. "It's okay, Peter."

Peter snorted. Traffic ground to a stop. Far ahead, Neal saw the accident blocking the lanes ahead. Just a little worse than a fender bender, he realized, which meant that the tow trucks would be a long time coming. The steering wheel all but extruded through Peter's fingers.

Neal stopped drumming. Peter glanced down to Neal's hands, now still on his lap, and swallowed. Neal was beginning to suspect that Peter was not getting his recommended amount of water for how dry his mouth always seemed to be. He put his hand back on Peter's thigh. Peter didn't move. For all the attention he was giving the control of the idling car, they could have been racing down the autobahn.

"I'm worried about you, Peter," Neal said, his voice light. He didn't move his hand on Peter's thigh.

"You're worried about me?" Peter asked, voice strangled in that tight throat of his.

"I am," Neal said. He squeezed his hand, and when that didn't spook Peter, he began rubbing his thumb along the weave of the fabric tight across Peter's thigh. Peter tensed, muscles hard and tight, then he relaxed into it. The siren of a marked police car sounded behind them. Peter jolted as though waking up, and slid Neal's hand off so he could join the wave of cars shifting over as far as they could in order to allow the cops to get to the scene. There wasn't a lot of give on the street, of course, and it took all of Peter's attention to get over far enough to give the space needed. He had to shift even more to give room to the wrecker that followed.

Neal sat back. He wasn't going to get through to Peter again. Peter was the one drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel now, and it was clear all he wanted to do was get gone. "You don't need to treat me like I'm fragile," Peter said, once the cops had made a path through. Traffic started inching along again. "You're not pulling the wool over my eyes. I know what...this entails."

Neal didn't like the hesitation or the word play. "So what is this to you?"

Peter shot him a don't make me say it look.

Neal shot him a I want you to say it look in response.

Peter's eyes narrowed. Not here.

Neal shrugged, hard and nothing fluid in the entire motion. Then where?

"Neal--" Peter began.

"Peter!" Neal interrupted.

Peter exhaled, blasting air out. "If you want to suck my cock, I'm okay with that, I guess." The words tumbled out, even as the cops waved them through the single lane of traffic. Peter smiled and nodded at them as though nothing at all had just happened.

Neal sat back, a bit stunned. Peter's word choice annoyed him more than he thought it would and he'd even been expecting it. Peter glanced to him, expecting a response, but Neal couldn't muster the polite words needed. He found himself no longer caring if he spooked Peter. "Wow, that's big of you."

A steel rod could have been jammed down Peter's back and it wouldn't have made his posture any more straight. "You asked."

"I suppose I did," Neal said. He shut up for the rest of the ride. His pride stung as though Peter physically, not verbally, slapped it.

*

El was in the kitchen when they got to the townhouse. Peter went in first. His back ached with the stored tension in it, and he was seconds away from turning to Neal and telling himto go home, but he didn't. Neal must have known he was seconds from being asked to leave, but rather than have that subdue him, it only got his own back in a knot as well. El looked up, obviously saw both their faces, and put down the knife she'd been using to pare down a cauliflower.

"What happened?" she asked.

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Neal pushed past him and went to sit down in the breakfast nook. "Yes, Peter. Why don't you tell El what happened?"

Peter glared at him, just for a second. "Neal asked a question he wasn't prepared to hear the answer for."

"So this is all my fault?" Neal demanded.

"Yes. Of course it is."

"Boys," Elizabeth said. "Stop this."

"Done," Peter said, putting more edge to his voice than he meant to. Neal jumped to his feet.

"Fine."

"Sit down, both of you, right now," El said. She didn't go for the knife by her hand, but Peter had only seen her this angry a couple times before. Peter sat down, as ordered. Neal took a second longer, not exactly versed in the language of El, but sat down with him. "Did you ask a question you weren't ready for?" El asked him, ignoring Peter.

Neal tried to hold her glare, but couldn't. He glanced down at his hands. "Yes."

"And Peter, did you answer the question knowing Neal wasn't ready for your answer?"

"How is that my fault?" Peter demanded.

El glared at him. Peter looked down as well. "Yes. I answered the question asked of me. Shoot me."

Neal reached out under El's glare, and touched the back of Peter's hand. Neal's way of asking forgiveness, if that was what it was. At least that was what it felt like. Peter turned his hand over and opened it. Neal slid his hand into it. The touch warmed Peter, more than the actual skin on skin contact. Neal only kept his hand in Peter's for a second before jerking his hands under the table.

"Are we going to try again or do you both want to call the whole thing off?"

Neal bowed his head. "No," he said.

"Peter?" El asked.

Peter glanced to Neal. He was leaning again. He obviously needed it more. It would be easier, Peter knew, if he cut his loses now, deal with El's frosty disapproval for a week or so, and move on. But he looked down to his now empty hand on the table and closed it. "No."

"Well then," El said. "Now give me a hand. This supper isn't going to cook itself."

The salad only needed to be tossed with the herb dressing and the flank steak seared for a minute or so per side. If the potatoes were in the oven longer they wouldn't hurt for it. The meal was a quiet one with only quiet requests for things to be passed over. Here was the subdued Neal Peter had been expecting. Peter didn't like it. El didn't like it, either. She took his hand and squeezed it, half way through the meal. That helped relax some of the nervous air around the table. Peter, despite himself, reached over and took Neal's other hand when El let go.

Neal looked up, grinning. It should have been cocky, Peter knew, and inappropriate, but it was Neal, so it wasn't.

After dessert, a pound cake with fresh fruit, Peter led the way to the living room. "Sit down," he told Neal. Neal did so.

El put her hand on Peter's chest. "No," she said.

"What do you mean, no?"

"Ask Neal to bring in one of the chairs from the living room."

Peter glanced to Neal. Neal nodded, gathering himself up, but El spoke again. "No, Peter. Ask him, please."

"Neal, would you?"

Neal nodded and stood. He was gone, just for a second. "I think you need to tie Neal down."

"He's not going to stay tied," Peter felt the need to point out.

"He will."

"And you?" Peter asked.

El smiled, beautiful even with the gleam in her eye. "Oh, we're taking care of me first."

Neal brought back the chair, and didn't protest when Peter motioned him to sit. He sat. Peter glanced over to the way he sat and knew he didn't even have to tie Neal to it in order to keep Neal still. Neal must have known where this was going the moment El asked for a chair to be brought, but still he looked tense. "Do I get a say in this?" he asked.

El looked at him. "Do you want a say in this?" she asked. Her eyebrow lift was pointed enough to skewer.

Neal sat.

He didn't complain when Peter, unprompted, undid his tie. Neal flexed his right hand a couple times before dropping it down to his side. Peter bound it to the leg of the chair. He didn't insult either of them trying to make it complicated. A simple double knot would do. Neal glanced down on it, then up at Peter. He nodded, and relaxed. Peter used his own tie for the left hand. "If I get a rash..." Neal began.

"I'd kiss it better," Peter said. He was sure he put the sarcasm in his voice at the start of the sentence, but the words came out without a hint of it.

"Really?" Neal asked, clearly not believing it, either.

Peter grunted. But even to him, it sounded affirmative.

Neal relaxed even further. If he wasn't careful, he'd slip out of the bonds despite himself.

"Now what?" Peter asked, turning back to El. He didn't know when he'd lost control of the situation, but he was beginning to suspect it was when El reached for the wine bottle. Elizabeth crooked her finger at him, and he came to her. They undressed in a dance Peter didn't know he knew the steps for. But Neal wasn't the only man who could sweep a woman off her feet. Though how he ended up sitting on the sofa, Elizabeth straddling him, he wasn't quite sure. Like so many other things that happened in the past week, Peter just let it happen.

El smiled, lowering herself down. Peter sighed, holding onto her waist as she did so. If he looked up into her eyes, he could pretend that they were the only one in the room despite Neal's now ragged breath from the chair. And that wasn't the point. As much as he loved the sound of El's quiet gasps, the slick sound of their bodies moving together and the sound his own throat made, he didn't want to filter out the sound of Neal twisting his wrists into the simple knots holding him down to the chair.

Elizabeth gripped onto the back of the couch, her body one moving in a continuous undulation. Peter arched his back, driving himself up into her as much El slid down him. Neal wasn't breathing heavy so much as making whining sounds now. They matched Peter's own, he realized. A new wave of heat overtook him. Elizabeth began bucking her hips, hard, rubbing their bodies together. When she found the perfect bit of friction, she shuddered. He held her as she bucked against him, writhing out her orgasm.

It was too quick for him. She usually took longer to come even astride him. He grabbed her wrists harder, trying to push himself up and over to match her frantic climax, but even before he could start trying to finish, she pulled back. Hair rumpled, cheeks pinked, lips still parted, she pressed her finger against his lips. "No."

"Not no. Yes," Peter said. It was perhaps not his most logical argument. He still felt her body shuddering even as she pulled away from him. He was left cold and still achingly hard.

Peter collapsed into the sofa. "You're killing me."

Elizabeth sat down beside him, curling her legs under her body. She patted his thigh. "Okay, Neal."

Peter had almost forgotten Neal was there. He lifted his head to watch as Neal stood up. It was like watching a magician specifically for the act of misdirection to see how the trick was done, and still not seeing anything at all. Rather than slipping his hands out, Neal shook them and the knots fell from the ties. The light blue silk and the striped blend pooled at the base of the chair.

"How did you--" Peter began, but didn't finish. Not the point, he got that. It was only three steps, if that, between where he'd been tied, but Neal managed to strip down in the time it took. For a three piece suit, shirt, and skivvies, that was impressive, even for Peter. Neal held out his left wrist. Pink skin, in two perfect cuffs, circled his forearm just above the knob of his wrist bone. It was exactly where Peter had tied him with the blended tie.

"You promised," Neal said.

Peter wanted to argue that technically, he hadn't promised anything, but he said he'd do it. He swallowed and nodded. His erection had flagged somewhat, but woke up as he pressed his lips against Neal's wrist. Wasn't that an interesting psychosomatic response. He took Neal's hand. Neal, even with Peter's lips on him, still stood as far back from Peter as he could. Peter pulled him closer. Neal made a sound, but was too quick to get pulled off his feet. He twisted so rather than straddling Peter -- which may or may not have been Peter's objective -- he landed beside Peter sideways, pressed against him.

Interesting. The room hadn't been cold, but Neal was giving off enough heat that the air felt cooler. Neal's right hand had gone out to break his fall, but he pulled it back to brace himself against Peter in case he needed to leap away again.

Then Neal realized that Peter wasn't pushing him away. He hadn't even broken the contact between his lips and Neal's wrist. Peter lifted his head once Neal stopped trying to get away pre-emptively. "This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't twisted so much," Peter said.

"There were no self-causing clauses in the deal."

"Do you see me reneging?"

Neal's mouth twisted. "No. I don't."

Peter kissed Neal's wrist again. He worked his way up Neal's forearm, pausing at the crook of his elbow, but then hurried on at the first sign of ticklishness. Neal pulled his arm away, and this time Peter let him go. "I didn't meant what I said in the car," Peter said.

"You don't think you could let me suck your cock? You guessed?" Neal asked.

Peter reached down Neal's body. Neal gasped as Peter's hand wrapped around his cock, and with Neal's body against his he felt Neal shudder. His hand on another man's cock wasn't nearly as strange as he thought it would be. It felt familiar, at least. El leaned over and sucked on his earlobe. "Don't be afraid. It's not going to bite."

Neal put his head on Peter's shoulder, too. He tried to reach for Peter's cock as well, but their forearms kept hitting. El pushed Neal's hand away. "I've got this, Neal."

Neal shuddered again. He closed his eyes, head still on Neal's shoulder. Peter glanced to El, not really sure, but he knew that eventually Neal would want more than just Peter's fingers wrapped around his cock. "Don't be shy," El whispered.

Shy wasn't the right word for his mood and Neal, as it turned out, was a lot more resourceful than Peter gave him credit for. Peter gave him a lot of credit. Neal held Peter's hand still, and pulled his body up to it. El matched the pace Neal set. It didn't work perfectly for Peter, but El's mouth on the side of his face and the way Neal seemed so focused on just that little bit of stimulation Peter gave him smoothed over the fast pace. He was hard all over again and turned on more than he probably should be from the desperate rhythm of Neal's hips.

"I knew you two would kiss and make up," El whispered, and provided just a little more tension in her own grip around Peter's cock. His orgasm felt like it had built up for hours and came out of nowhere at the same time. With El trapping his right hand and Neal gripping on to dear life to his left, he only had to close his eyes and let his body just go.

Neal was staring at him, his face shining, when Peter opened his eyes again. Peter swallowed. His right arm felt asleep from El pressing against it the whole time. El was already off the sofa, and returned in her robe. She carried the chair away, but Neal didn't look away while she moved behind him. "Can I help you with anything else?" Peter asked. He needed a shower.

"No," Neal said. "Except maybe that car service."

El was in the kitchen now, making coffee from the sounds of it. Peter pushed himself up. "Stay."

Neal stayed.

*

The touching was back the next morning, and Neal didn't even have to play in traffic to get it. Peter began the day by putting his hand on the small of his back as they entered the office, and tapped the back of his hand to tell him that he'd get the coffees. Things were on the upswing.

So when Neal saw the suits approaching the board room they were in, his heart dropped down to his stylish loafers. Walk on by he thought, just keep right on going but he must have jinxed it because the men stopped. Peter followed his line of sight before they knocked, and shot him a questioning glance.

Neal shrugged. He'd testify in court he had no idea what they were doing there.

Peter got the door. Neal had somehow gotten rooted to the spot. The men poured in through the opening like cockroaches. "Special Agent Burke, we need to speak to you alone," the one in the lead said.

They were shorter, balder, a bit too rounded out. Not feds, Neal guessed. Local cops. But not from Manhattan. They were far too polyester for that. Jersey, maybe. Neal knew Mr. Football had to be from Jersey. "Don't mind me," Neal called, forcing his voice too light. "I'm sure whatever you have to say is not important enough for me to remember."

They glared. At least they weren't coming after him with cuffs. They would have started with that. Local cops had no sense of theatrics. "Special Agent Burke?" the first one repeat.

Peter looked at Neal again. Neal shrugged. He held out his hands, hoping that pointed out the lack of cuffs on them.

Peter nodded. "This way, gentlemen." He motioned them out again.

"No, no, you go. I'll leave here, and go there," Neal said. He stood up. Two of the men jerked, but none of them drew their weapons at him to try to stop him from leaving. That was...good, Neal supposed. One of the cockroaches broke from the...herd? It occurred to Neal that he didn't know the plural of cockroach and didn't want to reach for his phone in a room full of jumpy cops. Not-so-friendly fire was a terrible way to go down.

He took his personal cockroach outside. The man loitered by the hand rail as Neal sat sunning himself. The local cop hovered, but not enough to throw shade. The local boys came out about ten minutes later, eyeing him on the steps as though he were the one from the insect kingdom. Neal waved to them as they scurried off with their packmate. He still wasn't arrested, he couldn't help but notice. Peter came out to find him a minute later.

"Walk with me," Peter snapped.

Neal climbed to his feet. So much for the upswing.

They made it about a block from the federal building before Peter turned on him. "Those were New Jersey police officers," he said.

"I figured--" Neal began, but Peter didn't look in the mood for glib. Peter's eyes narrowed, daring Neal to finish the thought, but Neal left it there. "That's it, I figured. What did they have to say?"

"A friend of the mayor's gone missing," Peter said. "He left nothing, not a note, not a credit card trail, vanished off the face of the earth, as they say."

"Is that right?" Neal asked.

"They wanted to take you in for questioning over the issue."

"Me?" Neal asked. "What would I know about--"

Peter shot him another look, daring him to continue. Neal held up his hands, and struggled to rephrase the question. "Why do they think I have anything to do with a missing person's case in New Jersey?" he asked.

"That's what I asked. With your tracker, it would have been easy to prove you hadn't been in Jersey since you've gotten out of jail. But that's not exactly true, now, is it?"

"I had no idea where Mr. Football took me, Peter. I told you that."

Peter exhaled. "They found your DNA, Neal. All over the pantry."

Neal felt cold. He forced himself not to think about the fists flying at his face. "Getting your face smashed in is messy business, Peter," Neal said, softly.

"That's what I told them, more or less." Peter rubbed his face. "What did you do, Neal?"

"Nothing!" Neal protested. He motioned his tracker. "And you would know that. You haven't let me out of your sight, and when you did, I never left my radius. You know that."

Peter shook his head. He'd told the local boys that, too, Neal saw. And they'd believed him, hence the lack of shiny jewelry adorning Neal's wrists at the moment. But Peter didn't buy it. He didn't even timeshare the concept. "What did you have done, Neal?" he asked, instead.

Neal could lie through his teeth. Peter wouldn't buy that either. "I can't tell you, Peter. I'm sorry."

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Peter howled. Neal glanced around, but none of the people around them even reacted. Thank god they were in New York. Neal put his hands over Peter's shoulders. Peter went to knock his hands away, but then didn't. "What happened to Damien and Damien's employer?"

"I don't know," Neal said. That was the truth, at least. But Peter saw through that, as well.

"Do you think semantics are going to save you here?" Peter demanded. "Willful ignorance is not a lawful defense."

"I don't care about lawful defenses," Neal said. "I only care what you think."

"I think I'm an agent of the FBI," Peter snapped. "And if you did what I think you did..."

"You know me," Neal snapped. "And do you think I could have done something like what you are accusing me of?"

"No," Peter allowed. "So help me out here, Neal."

"I can't," Neal said. He'd never put Peter's job at risk. Peter went to turn away, but Neal caught him, not letting him go. "Think about that, Peter. Please. I'm begging you here. Please just think about that."

"I'm trying," Peter said. "But I need more than what you're giving me."

Neal exhaled, sharply. He let Peter go, but Peter didn't turn away. "I'm not saying I did what you're accusing me of," he began, and saw the exasperated look flash across Peter's face. "I'm not. And I won't, I swear. Send me back to prison if you have to, I won't. But if...if...I did, wouldn't you think I'd need a damn good reason to break my MO?"

Peter's nostrils flared. "I don't want to play this game with you, Neal."

"You think I do?" Neal snapped.

Peter hesitated, then covered his face with his hands. "Okay, fine. If you did, you must have had a good reason."

Neal sagged against the building he stood against. It was an inch and he needed a mile, but he took it. "And say there was this nice lady who took me in, a lady who didn't deserve to get dragged into any kind of unpleasantness at all."

"You don't kill people because they threaten people that you like, Neal. You don't do that. God, have I taught you nothing? Hypothetical or not, if you think I'm going to risk my neck to keep you out of this, you've got quite a few years coming."

"Damn it, Peter!" Neal didn't get up into people's faces. He was a smile-and-wave guy from the sidelines. Peter had to know that, and yet here Neal stood, a quarter inch from Peter's face. "Think, you moron! They weren't after me!"

Peter wasn't hearing him. His breath blasted across Neal's cheeks. Neal tasted his breath mint. Any second he was going to push Neal back against the building, no doubt cracking Neal's skull for his trouble, and he'd be in the back of a wagon going to prison before it sunk into Peter's brain what Neal was trying to tell him. He grabbed onto Peter's suit, wishing he could just shake the man until the idea emulsified.

"El," Peter said, finally. "They were going after El. They would have started with June, and if you still hadn't done what they asked, they would have killed El."

Neal sighed. Thank God. He let go of Peter's lapels, but Peter grabbed Neal's wrists. "It's still not a reason to have someone killed, Neal."

"Agreed," Neal said. "Hypothetically speaking, of course. If, hypothetically speaking, what they were asking for wasn't impossible. Moz couldn't even begin to see a work around."

"You should have come to me," Peter said. He sounded broken.

"I should have," Neal allowed. "But you would have gone through the proper channels."

"Right," Peter snapped.

"And you would have arrested Damien."

"Damn right."

"And what would have happened to June and El? Could you have protected them both forever? The man took years to plan this, Peter. Do you think him just going to jail would have made him throw up his hands and decide that you weren't worth it? I'm just guessing here, but I think you're going to find that you sent the man's father to prison, where he died."

Peter hesitated, again. He let go of Neal's wrists, and Neal straightened his suit. "You're sure of that?"

"No, of course not," Neal said. "It's pure speculation on my part." But he looked at Peter, daring him not to believe him. Twice he tried to drop Neal's gaze, but Neal wouldn't let him go.

Peter finally nodded. "Pure speculation," he repeated.

"If I had any idea what you were talking about to begin with," Neal said.

Peter turned to go, but stopped himself. He spun around back on Neal, and Neal sighed. Round Two he thought. But Peter wasn’t angry anymore. Not good.

“What you did was wrong,” Peter said, voice cracking.

“What part of what I do is right, Peter?” Neal asked. If he could needle Peter into getting upset again, then maybe Neal could crack the betrayal and have him see reason. The disappointment in what Neal had done was too strong of a defense against him.

“Not a thing,” Peter said. He shook his head. “I suppose I no long have to worry about arranging car services for you anymore, but I’m going to need to keep up the charade for another month. Nothing can change, do you understand me?”

Neal exhaled. He took a step forward, remembering how good it felt to kiss the man, but Peter sidestepped him as gracefully as a matador. Neal hoped he hadn’t looked like a charging bull. “But this ends.”

Neal stared at Peter. “You can’t be serious.”

Peter laughed, a raw sounding noise Neal had never heard from him before, and he’d heard a lot of different sounds coming from the man’s mouth. “I can’t allow a murderer into my house again, Neal. Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”

“I didn’t…” Neal began, but it was no use. He swallowed. It hurt. “Please.”

Peter turned and left him there.

*

Peter brought Chinese food home. The dinner for two was much cheaper than the dinner for three, he noted, and the strange strangling sensation had nothing to do at all with the tie around his throat. El waited for him on one of the cosmic alignment where both of them got home early. They’d celebrate their good fortune with an outing or a bottle of wine, but he felt deflated and defeated despite the high road he’d just taken

El glanced over his shoulder, already smiling. The smile hung in the air for a second and disappeared. “Where’s Neal?”

“I’d imagine in his den of thieves,” Peter said, putting the plastic bag of food down on the table. He suddenly wasn’t hungry.

El frowned. “Peter, where’s Neal?”

“Gone. Okay? He’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”

“He’s in jail?” El’s voice rose to a pitch Peter didn’t hear from her that often. “You sent him to jail?”

“No!” Peter snapped. “But I should have. You don’t understand, El.”

“Then make me understand, Peter.”

Peter sat down at the table. He put his head in his hands. It was easier not looking at her. “You treat him like a puppy. He’s not a toy. He’s a dangerous criminal, and he makes a very good living convincing people to forget that one simple fact.”

“You don’t believe that,” El said.

“I didn’t. But I do now. He had people killed, Elizabeth.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s not true.”

“You don’t know. I do. I’m telling you, the truth.”

She turned around, her back stiff. Peter wanted to tell her that he wasn’t the bad guy here, that Neal had had him hoodwinked just as much as he’d hoodwinked her, but she needed time to process what he’d said. The smell of the Chinese food, bright, hot and sour filled the room. It might as well have been sewer gas.

El finally turned around to face him. “If he did what you said he’s done, he must have had a very good reason,” she said, voice hoarse.

“He did,” Peter allowed. That was true. “But that’s not the point, El.”

“Since when is motive not the point?” El asked. “I thought it was the whole point. If he did…” Her eyes widened, too bright. “He was protecting you.”

“No,” Peter said. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. “There are proper channels--"

“Then he was protecting us,” El said. “Those bruises, his disappearance, it was all because of us.”

“Proper channels,” Peter said, weakly. “El, there’s right and there’s wrong.”

She crossed her arms. “Absolutely,” she agreed, for once. “What side are you on?”

“He should have come to me.” Peter stood up. “Together, we could have worked something out.”

“He knows that,” El said, “So it must have been something pretty horrible for him to bypass you.”

That was true. Peter glanced back to the food on the table. It was already lukewarm now and would be inedible on his return. But rock hard rice was a small price to pay not to be under El’s wrath. It was a good thing he hadn’t take off his coat.

*

Peter buzzed Moz’s storage building, still not sure what he was doing there. But even if Neal couldn’t have gone to him, he would have gone to the short little man. The camera flicked on, and the Moz that appeared in the display was in full panic mode. “Go away!” he said. “There’s no one here! How did you get his address, Suit?"

“You may or may not know this,” Peter said, keeping his voice less dry than he wanted it to be. “But Neal has a tracker on his ankle.”

“That’s…privileged information! You can’t use any of it!”

“Moz, I’m not here for you,” Peter said. Pointing out that privileged information didn’t apply would just sound argumentative. “I need your help.” He played his trump card. “For Neal.”

Moz’s face went still. “You’ve done quite enough for Neal already today,” he said, voice chilly.

Peter was out trumped, and they both knew it. “I don’t understand, Moz. Neal wouldn’t show me the whole picture.”

“And you think I’m going to show you the whole picture? You couldn’t handle the whole picture.”

“Moz, please.”

Moz stared at him, hard, even through the camera. His gaze was a little off, but there was no denying the concern he had for Neal. What was it with Neal that inspired such blind loyalty. “You know I have something you want, and yet you do not resort to threats of recrimination in order to procure it,” Moz said, finally.

“Did you think I would?” Peter asked. It had occurred to him, deep down, but he hadn’t let himself follow that chain of thoughts.

Moz didn’t answer. He stood up and left the webcam’s range. It winked off in the next second.

He stood there, not quite sure what to do. He supposed he could go back to Neal. Threats wouldn’t work on him anymore than they would on Moz. The door to the loft opened, and Moz thrust another pile of papers in his hand. More print-outs. Great. “If these aren’t destroyed when you’re finished reading them, it’s going to be the end of your career, not mine,” Moz said, and slammed the door in his face.

Peter returned to his car, locked the doors, and turned on the interior light.

William Campbell, Junior. The name didn’t ring a bell. Bill Campbell. He’d known several, but if what Neal told him, even in the hypothetical was correct, then it would have been an older Bill Campbell. And that did narrow it down. He’d put a senior Bill Campbell away about ten years ago for raiding his company’s group retirement fund and then trying to cover it up with market manipulations. He’d been well connected, Peter remembered with a cold start, and he hadn’t gone down easy. He was still in a series of appeals, easy enough to do when he teed off with judges before lunch, when the man had died from a massive coronary.

Even years in the penitentiary, he’d had strings to pull. And if his son was even half as connected as the old man…Peter didn’t want to think about that.

He flipped through the rest of the papers. Anthony Wesko had been a good man. He didn’t deserve the frame job contained within the papers. He recognized the forgeries as Neal-esque, but didn’t for a second believe that it could possibly be from Neal.

Murder was wrong.

That was an absolute, to Peter. It had to be. Minor sins of omission could be tolerated for the greater good. He wasn’t saying he was a saint, but murder was wrong. If Neal had come to him, first…

William Campbell, Junior would probably still be out there. Even if Peter had broken Damien to give up Junior’s information, Junior would still have gotten bail. And sure, Peter would have protected El to the best of the bureau’s resources, but even from prison Junior could have gotten to her.

“Would you have taken that chance?” Peter asked, in the empty car. Would he have? If he could arrange for the problem to just disappear, quietly, succinctly and without a fuss?

“No,” he said, out loud.

But yes.

Anyone who’d threatened his family…

He couldn’t think like that.

But he did.

He slammed his fist into the steering wheel. “Damn it, Caffrey!”

*

He drove to June’s house, turned off the key, and waited. Eventually the door opened and Neal slipped out of the house. Peter knew he’d come. Whether or not he’d get into the car was a different story.

Peter unrolled the window. Neal sauntered down the steps, hat tipped at a rakish angle, and he looked every bit just another foppish dandy who had three martini lunches. It was only when Neal got to the car door that the wary alley cat look to his face showed.

“You couldn’t afford my hourly rates,” Neal said, leaning down into the car. “Believe me.”

“I do,” Peter said.

Neal sneered, his next snide remark coming in hard and fast on the inside, but then he saw Peter's face. He paused, the pithy remark frozen.

“You believe me?” Neal repeated. “Really?”

"Really." Peter motioned to the papers on the passenger seat. Neal only glanced at them to take in all that they meant.

“You talked to Moz.”

“No, not really,” Peter said.

Neal rested his elbows on the inside of the car, interlocking his hands together. “So…now what?”

“First we destroy those papers. And any digital copies your friend may have in his possession. All of them, Neal.”

Neal shrugged. To him, no problem. To Peter, not even conceivable. “And then?”

“Then I think I…owe you an apology, I guess.”

The first hint of grin cracked Neal’s otherwise blank face. “You think, you guess.”

“Around you, Neal, that’s pretty close to a sure thing.”

Neal perked at the thought. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, pulling out of the window. The door opened, and Neal gathered up the papers. He slid into the seat, and buckled himself in.

“But Neal…” Peter began.

Neal looked up, wary all over again. “Yes, Peter?”

“Not again. Never again. You need to trust me.”

“I do trust you.” Neal ducked his head so that the shadow of the door hit him. “You know I do.”

It wasn't good enough. Peter still had to push. “With everything, Neal. You have to trust me with everything.”

Neal looked at him again. “Statute of limitations not withstanding?”

Peter sighed, but nodded. It felt good to have Neal back in the car, he had to admit. He found himself reaching out, and his hand ended up on Neal's thigh, despite himself. Neal looked down at it, surprised. He put his hand over Peter's, and their fingers interlocked.

“You’re going to be the life of the party come 2012.”

Neal grinned at him. “You have no idea, Peter.”


End file.
